


Interpreting The Evidence

by capponi



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: AU, Alternative Meeting, F/M, Hannibal Lecter Being an Asshole, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Slightly - Freeform, Will Graham Being Will Graham, Will is a podcaster, alternative set up, alternative universe, true crime podcasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capponi/pseuds/capponi
Summary: Not quite an AU, but certainly another canon mix up!We bring things forward to the current era of the true crime podcast boom. Will Graham - in between leaving the force and considering a more permanent offer to take up teaching, throws his considerable energy and talent into a true crime podcast with a passionate cult following after this first season on the Minnesota Shrike. His colleague and friend Alana Bloom worries he's falling into dangerous old patterns of 'getting too close' but season two already has him gripped in a fever of research and revelations, now hot on the trail of the newest killer on the block - the Chesapeake Ripper.Unfortunately for Will, this comes to Hannibal Lecter's attention who finds himself both fascinated and irritated by the rude but brilliant profiler broadcasting his extraordinary insights to any anonymous ear who wishes to hear it. What is to be done about that...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Told you guys in 'Loose Lips..', I have a million 'alternative meetings'/AUs tramping around my imagination! I had to be a bit liberal with the timeline of when things are meant to be happening in the show and when this occurs to link things up with our current state of true crime podcasting
> 
> As a fan of the true crime boom myself, I always saw it fitting Will - even if he is a acerbic host and reluctant podcast celebrity. And it amused me to think of what Hannibal would think of his business being dissected so worryingly accurately and brilliantly across this medium. The narcissist in him would undoubtedly adore it but the rationale, safeguarding side could not abide the growing threat....where does that balance leave us?
> 
> Let's see where this tale takes us. I'm debating taking one of my Hannigram ideas into NaNoWriMo this year and making it A Whole Thing - perhaps if I choose this one I'll make up the chapters of Will's podcast episodes into actual podfic style audio excerpts to really get into things....too far..?
> 
> Anyway, enough of the ramble....I hope you enjoy
> 
> c x

The campus coffee shop was pleasantly cosy on this autumnal Tuesday - the first one carrying a real chill in the air, the cold sharpening the mulchy smell of wet leaves and wood smoke. Evening was drawing in fast beyond the large windows, which were transformed, to an impressionist blur of black and sulphurous yellow as streetlights shone through panes fogged opaque. The whoosh and gargle of the milk frother and rhythmical percussion of spent grounds being knocked out, the constant ebb and flow of murmuring conversation, the bittersweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon and old library books- for some it was a sensory overload but for Alana Bloom it created the perfect little bubble to get her head down and work. 

She was not the only faculty who frequented the slightly unfortunately named ‘Nite Owlz’ - it was the one place on campus outside of lectures where students and faculty reliably mixed. Try-hard name aside, it really redeemed itself with the quality of coffee served and range of fresh baked goods in tempting display behind the glass counter. Now starting her second year of tenure, the little place had become something of a regular evening haunt for Alana, preferring to limit the work she took home and finding it a calming transition to the end of her working day on evenings she had no other plans to get to or patients to see.

As she pulled her laptop and a stack of assignments out, ordering them into neat piles on the chipped oak table top, she felt the sudden itchy feeling of eyes on her and looked up - sometimes her keener students would hover to catch her about something they were struggling with or to sound ideas off her - but this time it wasn’t an eager young face she saw turned in her direction. An all too familiar figure was watching her from a table across the small alcove of booths she had settled in, hunched over a slightly battered looking laptop with an erratic storm of sticky notes and notepads forming an effective moat around him. Tight awkwardness clenched in Alana’s gut at the sight - the last time she’d seen him, a few weeks ago now, had been as she gently lifted his hands from her waist and calmly but firmly suggested them taking things further than the date was not the best idea right now. She had liked him a lot - _did_ like him a lot - but it didn’t even take her professional experience to see he was still reeling, clutching for balance - _unstable _was how she had phrased it to him.

He dropped his gaze quickly and started pounding on his keyboard, determinedly ignoring her again but with a telling tightness in his jaw, lips pressed together in a severe line. As quickly as he had started, he stopped again and his shoulders dropped in something like defeat as he glared down at his still fingers for a beat. It appeared the more mature side of his internal argument won and he stood, walking slowly over to her booth, not meeting her eyes until the last possible second and then fleeting off to gaze just beyond her left ear.

“Alana. Hi.”

“Will. It’s good to see you.” She meant it too, despite it all. There was a large part of her still conflicted about her decision not to take things further with him. The flattering warm light of the cafe did wonders for his colouring and was definitely not helping. 

His eyebrows contracted slightly and he opened his mouth, some barb seemingly primed on the tip of his tongue. But he closed it again, swallowed, tried again.

“I’m - I’m sorry about how I reacted when - the last time.” His eyes skittered back to hers, the expressive blue deep and remote as an ocean in the low light. “With time to think it over...I can’t say you’re wrong. Or at least...I understand.” 

Something in his tone made her chest hurt - the solemn acceptance. Still some anger, but turned inwards now. As vulnerable and cagey as a stray dog, distrustful and disbelieving of kindness for the sake of kindness. Her mother’s voice rang from memory - _you’re always finding yourself projects, Alana. Fixing up the broken ones. Just make sure you don’t marry one. _She had resented that advice then and she resented it intruding now.

“Join me a while?” She gestured to the far side of the booth, pulling a stack of essays out of the way. He stood a second longer, weighing it up with a glance back to his own table. “Just for a minute - I meant what I said, if it’s alright with you, if we could stay friends.”

He looked off to the side for a beat longer, mouth twisted slightly, and then gave and slipped into the seat, knotting his hands together on the table, meeting her eyes for a little longer this time.

“I’d like that too.” A smile then. Small, not quite reaching his watchful eyes, but progress. He noticed the two cups of coffee on the table and frowned. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Oh.” Alana placed a hand on each. “No - I wanted to see what all the fuss is with the pumpkin spice latte but wasn’t sure I’d like it so I got my usual too.”

The smile grew fractionally, his eyes stayed on hers. “And the conclusion?”

She twisted her face, pulling the mug of straight up black filter closer towards her. “As I expected. I’ll stick with what I know on that front I think. You’re welcome to this one if you like your coffee sweet and thick enough to stand a spoon up in it though?”

“Who could resist that tempting offer?” He took a sip and grimaced. “Ok, maybe I can.”

“So, what brings you here tonight? Have you finally caved and taken the place they keep threatening you with teaching here then?” She nodded to his overloaded table of notes.

“Not yet, no. Just been in for a guest lecture again - running through a few cases for the Psychology of Criminal Profiling module. I’m still considering their offer for a more _stable _role.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Quite seriously considering it though - thinking it might be good for me. Less solitary an occupation anyway.”

“Than the podcast you mean?” She worked very hard to keep her tone neutral.

He visibly bristled.

“I know you think it’s _unhealthy.”_

“I never said that. Not _exactly_. I just worry how ...in depth you get. After what you told me about your history.”

“You say in depth and somehow I hear obsessed.” 

His tone was slipping back into hostile, and just as she was thinking quickly how to pull the conversation back onto safe ground she was distracted by a figure in her periphery, standing close and unnervingly still by the booth. She gave a little jolt, turning away from Will’s combative gaze to look up - surprise shifting to a genuine smile as she saw who stood there, face suddenly feeling warmer than the cosy fug of the coffee shop could solely be blamed for.

“Doctor Lecter! I didn’t expect to see you….here.”

An inscrutable smile on the fine boned face looking down on their booth, dark eyes narrowed slightly as they flicked between her and Will, who was now back to staring studiously at his hands - knotted together so tightly the knuckles were white and strained.

“Forgive the interruption, Doctor Bloom, I will not keep you. I was simply passing through after my lecture and thought it would be terribly rude not to offer a quick greeting when I spotted you.”

Will raised his head slightly from the furious examination of the age-pocked table top and she was sure she saw him roll his eyes but didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back at him. If there were two men in her life which were guaranteed to get along as well as wax and water, it was the two she found herself now awkwardly sat between. Yet she found herself smiling up at Doctor Lecter despite the waves of tension now free flowing across the table from Will, the warmth of her face spreading down her neck in what she was sure was a rather unflattering blush. She suddenly felt like the fresh faced and painfully naive student she had been when she had first crossed paths with Doctor Lecter, already a distinguished figure in the field. Him leading the lecture with the lyricism and force more akin to philosophy or art than the finer points of applied quantitative research methods in clinical psychology and her, eyes huge in the gloom of the lecture theatre and face just as heated as it was now all these years later. 

She desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed then, or now, the effect he had on her. But Will clearly noticed. He stood a little too quickly, knocking the table and causing the coffee cups to rattle softly in their saucers.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Tone as dry and rough as sandpaper. “See you around, Alana.” Without a further glance at either of them, he retreated to his own table, dropping heavily into the seat and immediately starting back up at his furious typing.

In the awkward vacuum his abrupt departure left behind, Alana met Doctor Lecter’s dark gaze again with an apologetic look. 

“I’m - sorry about that. Not quite sure - “

“Please, do not worry. It seems I interrupted a difficult conversation.”

Alana blew out a long sigh. “A difficulty of my own making I fear.” Then, noticing the espresso he held. “Would you like to join me, if you have time I mean?”

“Of course. Thank you.” He slid into the booth with a great deal more grace than the previous occupant, and a subtle waft of a rich, spiced amber cologne. Alana felt a slick of disloyalty for the unconscious comparison. 

“A friend of yours, then?” A small inclination of his head towards Will’s table.

“Yes. Sort of.” Her eyes narrowed a little, wondering how much was appropriate to share. “We - dated. Well, one date. It didn’t go well.”

“I could tell that much. A fellow lecturer? I do not recognise him.”

“No. Not yet, anyway - they keep offering him a position though. They think he could offer a unique perspective to the criminal profiling units - he used to work homicide. He was good at it too. _Too _good at it to be any good for himself.”

Doctor Lecter slid his gaze to look at Will again, longer this time and with a markedly keener interest.

“Hmm. So many fall in love with the force only to realise it does not fall itself so easily. No longer actively serving I assume?”

“No - things took a bit of a turn, the cases started getting to him.” Alana wondered if she was saying too much, reeling out Will’s colourful history like this, but Doctor Lecter had a way of inciting confidences. Anyway, she reasoned, this was all public record. If you knew where to look. “Or rather - he got too far into the cases. Started getting more and more erratic - was forced to see an endless array of doctors who all gave him the all clear but it all came to a head when he was shot. They realised on _that _admission that he actually had a well developed and nasty case of encephalitis - had been missed who knows how many times in his previous checks. Anyway, that seemed to flick a switch for him - won a considerable medical malpractice case and quit. Been effectively in retirement for a year or so now - other than running the odd guest lecture here that is, and dodging the offer of something more permanent. That’s how we met.”

“He certainly seemed dedicated to his lecture preparations for a man largely still in retirement.” Doctor Lecter commented, eyeing the teetering piles of paperwork and the feverish typing occurring across the alcove.

“Oh that won’t be lecture prep.” 

“No?”

“He - he’s spent most of his time off running this true crime podcast. Do you listen to any? Seem to be everywhere these days.”

Doctor Lecter tilted his head minutely, lips slightly pursed in something akin to distaste.

“I can’t say I do - I see enough of the criminal mind during work hours for any recreational desire of the topic.”

The quick, easy dismissal fired up a need in Alana to defend the podcast she had only recently tried to talk the host out of continuing.

“It’s actually quite a hit - which strangely seems to irritate him more than if nobody listened. It’s called ‘Interpreting the Evidence’. I know - not as catchy as the others out there, but he says it suits him better to simply say what he does and let the work speak for itself. The first season he unpacked that Minnesota Shrike case before it was solved. Pieced things together as if he _knew _the killer, seemed to see it all from inside his mind. He fed quite significantly into the live case, arguably had a fair hand in solving it although he wasn’t officially given much recognition on that count. Anyway, people _loved _it - he has quite the cult following now”

“You listen then?”

“Oh yes. It started as a bit of a curiosity - the way his mind works, the way he reasons it out and the connections he can make - it really is fascinating. But as it went on it just...it worried me. He seemed to be falling into his old patterns again - putting himself into the case, into the killer’s mind. I’ve told him I don’t think it’s helpful for him, after what he’s already been through. I was maybe a little too frank in my thoughts on that.”

Doctor Lecter flicked his eyes again back to where Will was now scribbling notes in the margins of some form of report and sticking a blue note to it, following some filing system known only to himself as he threw it haphazardly back on the pile in front of him.

“I would hazard a guess that your advice has not been taken on board?”

Alana sighed. “No, unfortunately not. He’s too far gone with research for the next season already - if anything he seems more steeped in the details of this case than the other and there’s only been one episode released so far.”

“And what is the subject of the second season?”

“The new killer on the block of course, this ‘Chesapeake Ripper’.”

Alana did not spot it, looking quickly herself over to the hunched figure they discussed in hushed tones, but the answer made Doctor Lecter go very still for a beat. His amber eyes blinked once, quick and mechanical as a camera shutter, and then he resumed the easy posture and expression of before by the time Alana looked back.

“Well - it does appear the authorities need any help they can get with that one.” Was all he said.

“They may, but I’m worried it won’t be so helpful for Will.”

“Will.” Not quite a question, but curiosity was implicit. Sounding the name out.

“Maybe you should listen to the podcast - he might listen to my advice with a little more professional sway behind my own thoughts.”

Doctor Lecter was watching Will closely again, gaze very steady and mouth straight and serious.

“Perhaps I will. I will be sure to let you know my thoughts if I do, Doctor Bloom.”

“Oh, Alana, please. And thank you, I appreciate that.”

His gaze fell back to her with a warm smile, although his posture remained a little straighter and tighter than usual.

They spoke a little longer, her sipping coffee gone uncomfortably cold while Doctor Lecter left his own untouched, of their respective current lecture content, of the trials of difficult students and bureaucratic headaches in the recent journal publishing round. The time passed easily and before she knew it, Doctor Lecter was wishing her good night and moving to stand again.

Will stared blindly at the several paragraphs he had typed out, the words blurred into incomprehensible smudges as he kept half a watch on Alana and the imposing interloper out of the corner of his eye. He was standing now to leave, the tall man with the strange lyrical accent, holding her hand a little too long in his as he bid farewell. Will broke off his watch to prevent himself from rolling his eyes again and tried to sink back into the comforting cocoon of his research, bring back the swirl of thoughts to the pattern he had started to see written in postscript across each of the cases before him. When he slid a covert gaze back across, he jumped slightly - finding his view blocked by a wall of exquisitely tailored windowpane check and a deep, sweetly earthy scent more suited to private members clubs and ornate libraries than a student coffee spot. The interloper. Stood close to Will’s table, too close than common courtesy would usually dictate the meeting of two strangers, making Will crane his neck uncomfortably to look into his face or move back to accommodate the visitor. Will did not give.

“Mr Graham.” That voice again - something in the benevolent calmness set Will’s nerve jangling. “I wish to apologise for interrupting your previous discussion with Doctor Bloom.”

There was something in those dark eyes, which remained unstirred by the polite smile curving the dark lips, an unseen depth where sparks flew and snuffed to nothing. Underneath the perfect stillness and grace of tone there was an implicit menacing quality - a battle-hardened sword held hidden within an ornate scabbard. Will was not sure if the man meant to be so clear in his intimidation or if Will was seeing a glimpse behind a carefully maintained curtain.

“Don’t worry. We were done anyway.” Will muttered, turning quickly back to his laptop. His fingers had not hit a single key before the man, ignoring the clear cue for him to leave, spoke on in the same polite, conversational tone. 

“Doctor Bloom tells me you offer the occasional lecture here. I admit myself to have something of an interest in your field - would you permit me to attend your next?”

Will narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was being patronised and feeling implicitly patronised by having to wonder. “I don’t manage attendance. You’d have to take it up with the office.”

“Ah. I’m sure Alana can let me know when you are next due to lecture.” The slide into _Alana_ instead of _Doctor Bloom_ did not go unnoticed and Will bristled despite his best efforts not to be ruffled by this man.

“Excellent.” Will intoned blandly, reaching a hand to find a page somewhere in the depths of a messy stack of notes. “You do that.”

A large hand planted itself with cat-like agility on top of the stack Will was rifling through, pressing down with a fearsome strength and effectively trapping Will’s fingers between the pages. A second hand came to grip the edge of the small table and Will twisted his face up, mouth snarling at the flagrant presumption and disregard for personal space but the retort died in his throat as he found the man now leaning low, braced on the table and bearing his weight all the harder on Will’s hand trapped between the pile of papers, his face only a foot from Will’s. 

“You are rude, Mr Graham.” The cultured voice took on a metallic rasp when lowered to the intimate whisper. The pressure on Will’s fingers was becoming acutely painful but he was 

locked into the dark gaze, unable to move or speak.

Then just as suddenly as he had been pinned by force and tone, Will found himself freed again - the man was straightening with an easy smile, looking for all the world as if he was simply winding up a chat with an old acquaintance. In a voice back at normal volume and colored with considerably more warmth than those haunting eyes held he bid Will goodnight and was gone, striding to the door of the cafe and the out with only a gust of chill night air in his wake.

Will snatched his hand out from between the pages and cradled the aching fingers in his other hand. He looked across the Alana openly then, ready to storm over and demand to know who her strange friend had been, who the hell he thought he was. But she sat headphones in and bent close to a stack of essays with a slight frown of concentration. She hadn’t seen anything. Will looked around slightly desperately, finding himself in the rare situation where he longed for someone to catch his eye, to have seen the interaction, to validate that had really just happened. Nothing, just groups of students far too locked in their own discussions to spare the tousled man in the corner a glance. 

When Alana looked back up some twenty minutes later, realising it was nearing closing time already and starting to hurriedly pack her things away, she looked to Will’s table with a half-baked idea to ask if he fancied finding a late dinner somewhere. The small table was quite empty, the only evidence of occupation left was a circular smudge on the fogged windowpane beside it, tailed with long drips of condensation, where a hand had nervously rubbed clear the glass to peer out into the dark night.


	2. Chapter 2. S2E1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Release of episode one of the new season is met with varied reactions from the observed listeners...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delay between chapters has been obscene - I apologise! I had a half-baked plan to do something cool with some actual audio for the podcast but then life got real busy, guys and...well, it's a thought for the future!
> 
> I am pulling from the books and show to build the Ripper timeline, but there's a little license taken too where my plot requires it 
> 
> Finally...is the meta opening super cheesy and awful? Yes.   
Do I regret it? I do not.   
Did I have immense fun thinking of what it would be like to live in a world where will Graham was throwing out podcasts and had a pack of his own murderinos online avidly following his every word? Hell yes.
> 
> (PS.posting from my phone on a train - may revise later if I spot weird formatting or errors but apologies for these in the meantime!)

~ ~ ~

The soft notification tone interrupts your increasingly mindless scrolling - looking up you see the neat little ‘new episode available’ icon from your podcast app and drag down to see the details with only mild interest, mind still lulled by the pleasant end-of-day lethargy.

The familiar artwork catches your eye first with a tug of excitement before your eyes scan the text beside - ‘Season 2, Episode 1 - Interpreting the Evidence’.  _ Perfect! _ While the new episode downloads, you flick open Twitter and already see the fellow Interpreters on your timeline, cheering on the long anticipated return of the podcast. Tapping out a quick tweet (‘ _ Here we go again, buckle up Interpreters! _ ’) a second soft tone signals the download has completed.

You slip in headphones and hunker down in your seat as the now familiar opening music announces the start of the episode, the soft voice of Will Graham coming in with its unique blend of confidence and quiet, gravely passionate as he set the scene. Tucking your phone in your pocket, you snuggle down in your seat and gaze idly out into the growing gloom of evening as you listen.

~ ~ ~

_ “Two years ago, the brutal murder and macabre display of Benjamin Raspail marked the ninth such attack in almost as many months - the closing knell of an increasingly disturbing peal of murders up and down the Chesapeake Bay area. With the final three murders all occurring in a nine day period, it seemed as if this killer had hit a spree and hopes were raised that the previously meticulously careful character would slip up - that madness, passion or whimsy would allow a clue to his identity to finally slip through to investigators. However, as with all of the previous unsolved cases now tied to the same careful killer, there was no definitive evidence, no leads, and we seemed no closer to ending the unfolding rampage. _

_ And then, just as fear really reached fever pitch across the area - with residents, tabloids and law enforcement all waiting for the next gruesome scene to be discovered - it all stopped again. The first month went by slowly, breath was bated and anticipation high. Then another month went by. And another. And before we knew it, here we were - two years and not a single crime scene in that time which held any of the calling cards of this particular killer. Many thought that was that - that he had been spooked by a close call, changed his ways or even died.  _

_ But then at the height of the case we covered here in the last season - the Minnesota Shrike - I noted one of the kills which did not quite seem to fit the rest. Cassie Boyle, a local University of Minnesota student originally from Chicago, was found early one morning in a field far outside of the city impaled on a rack of antlers. She had organs missing - her lungs had been removed - but no other parts had been harvested or used. She was left out to the elements, left to go to waste.  _

_ Authorities at the time, and to this day, have credited Boyle as a victim of the Shrike - Garrett Jacob Hobbs - however I still believe, as I did at the time, that Boyle is more than an outlier in the Shrike's usual MO. The style is similar to the previous Shrike kills, I don’t deny that, but there was a level of care in the Shrike kills which is wholly absent for Boyle - all of the previous Shrike victims were honoured, at least in the mind of Hobbs. He did not aim to degrade or punish any of the young women he killed, he used every part of them. We look at Boyle though and we see a very different drive behind her death - her lungs were allegedly removed while she was still alive, and her body displayed violently and publicly without apparent nude or purpose.  _

_ Boyle’s killer saw her as nothing more than a pig. Boyle’s killer was not Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Boyle’s killer shows traits of sadism, surgical skills, a meticulous ability to avoid leaving any evidence and no clearly traceable motive. In short, a profile which - to me - rings much closer to that of the killer we opened this season discussing, and who will be the subject of this second season. I believe Cassie Boyle marks the first victim of the Chesapeake Ripper in almost two years. _

_ Welcome to season two of ‘Interpreting the Evidence’. The subject of our consideration this time round - the so-called Chesapeake Ripper. Clever, careful, a master of carnage and chaos. An intelligent psychopath without any commitment to pattern or coherent motive.  _

_ So where do we even start unpacking such a figure? Rather unimaginatively - at the beginning. Or as early a beginning as the evidence allows. Who are the first known victims of the Ripper, and what do they tell us about him? _

_ I feel this goes without saying but as a final precaution, any listeners of a nervous or squeamish disposition best hit stop about now because we’re about to cover a variety of novel examples of limbs and organs ending up where they should definitely not be. You have been warned….” _

_____

Alana sighed, realising she had been sat with her fingers poised above the half written article draft for the full introduction of Will’s latest episode without typing a single letter. She gave up the ill-fated plan of having it on in the background while she worked and clicked to maximise the online player, the simplistic artwork and play controls popping up as Will’s voice continued - calm, clinical and confident. He seemed to find an ease when he lost himself in a profile which he lacked in most face to face encounters. Perhaps it wasn’t such a damaging outlet after all, she mused, lifting her mug of coffee to warm her hands as Will continued the lyrical descriptions and analysis of a variety of victims and their violent ends. She decided to avoid getting his hackles up again, to be openly less critical of his pursuit for now to allow her to stay close, keep an eye on his mental state. Any hint of the same level of immersion and obsession as he reached at the close of the last case and she would step in, try at least to help and support him if he would not heed her calls to step back entirely. 

After all, this was only episode one. Maybe - hopefully - this Ripper would stop again or be caught before Will even had the chance to be pulled in too close. 

_____

The office was dark, the only light came from the fluorescent bar light above a wall of photos, notes and lines of tenuous connections. Harsh shadows fading into the greater gloom outside of the circle of sickly light. Just beyond the perimeter of illumination, Jack Crawford sat slumped with fingers steepled under his chin, a tinny voice ringing out from his laptop into the brittle quiet of Quantico after dark. His dark eyes were scanning over the array of material before him - what had already felt like a flimsy collection of evidence, plenty of victims represented but little of the killer himself, was feeling increasingly blunt and out of focus the more he listened.

His eyes slid to an A4 print out on the far right of the board - a rough and vague artist’s impression of the Ripper based on a paltry and potentially wholly unreliable set of self-professed witnesses. The generic face looked back, neutral expression suddenly seemed to be mocking. Jack stood with a sudden angry agility, surprising for his stature, and strode to the board - tearing down the sketch and crumpling it into a tight ball.

Uncapping a pen he added a name to the board, pausing a beat between the columns for leads and potential suspects and ending up writing it somewhere in-between. He looked at it for a long moment and then stepped forward again to underline the newest avenue of investigation.

_ Will Graham _ .

_____

_ “And finally - as little as we currently know of this Ripper, we do know one thing without any conjecture or guessing required. This is a very dangerous man. I will spell the basics out again - he is meticulous, organised, intelligent. He has not shown any signs of being unstable. He has proven he is not driven mindlessly by his urges - he can go dormant for years at a time and seemingly exist quite happily during that time amongst society. In short, he will not be caught easily, he is too good at what he does. Anyone who has it in their mind to try any solo detective work trying to put themselves in the path of this man, please listen back over that last 10 seconds and reconsider.  _

_ The next episode will be out next week as usual - depending on developments in the case of course. Stay safe out there.” _

_ ___ _

As the podcast episode ended with the same slightly haunting music it opened with, the sound of Will Graham’s voice seemed to have seeped into the sumptuous fabrics of the Bentley - echoes of phrases spoke again and again as Hannibal turned them over in his mind. He sat in almost complete darkness, the crass illuminated sign and glowing windows of the campus coffee shop reflecting in his eyes were the only points of light in the gloom of the near empty parking lot. Those eyes were narrowed in thought, set unblinkingly on a figure in a window seat of the cafe hunched over a laptop, reading over something with great attention and breaking every now and then to scribble some hasty notes. 

_ Will Graham _ . Lips mouthed the name soundlessly.  _ Will Graham _ .

He had planned to take the man's tongue tonight. It had seemed wonderfully fitting and the idea had immediately drawn forth a charming  _ pot-au-feu _ recipe he hadn’t enjoyed since his last visit to Paris. But plans were best kept fluid and he felt irresistible swell of a tidal shift in the deep dark waters beyond his statuesque stillness.

This irritating,  _ incendiary _ man had managed to clang close enough to genuine insight in a number of conjectures in the meandering monologue Hannibal had just finished listening to. Not close enough for any genuine concern, not by a stretch. But it had the reminiscent thrill of hearing - somewhere, unseen in a heaving crowd - a lone voice speaking your mother tongue amongst a cacophony of unintelligible foreign languages. There was a primal urge to seek out such a voice - to indulge the basest, shameful human desire to be heard and understood, to connect, to embrace an unexpected kinship in a sea of indifference. It was indeed a novel and not entirely unpleasant experience Hannibal decided. He felt a warm, prickling pleasure in hearing his own work being discussed with even this modicum of real understanding and appreciation. 

Plans were fluid. Plans could change. Hannibal followed several trains of thought at any given time and a new course was already unfolding itself before him. It was riskier, more so than simply killing the man tonight. But he was nothing if not insatiably curious. 

With a soft click and a muted purr, the Bentley came to life around him. A quick swipe and the ghostly echo of Will Graham’s voice was replaced with a soaring aria - Hannibal's solemn expression similarly shifting to a cryptic smile as he pulled smoothly away, the dark car quickly swallowed up into the black of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Players start to line up on the board, and the very integrity of the podcast comes under threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the enormous delay in posting with this story - life really crashed in on me and I just couldn't get into the flow of this tale. Hopefully back into it now - things are moving forwards again

Will sometimes listened to the rock solid assuredness certain students offered their thoughts with and wondered if he had ever been so sure of himself, even when blinded by the naivety of youth. He doubted it. But then, he hadn’t been a normal kid.

“Right in essentials, Mr Hancock.” The student beamed. “But lacking somewhat in nuance. It is obvious that this -” Will gestured to the glowing picture up on the projection screen or a viciously mutilated body. “-is a crime of passion. But what _is_ that passion, what is the emotion here, what set the killer off on this rampage?”

Only the humming of the projector as the students looked nervously between themselves, enthusiasm dampened slightly but the curt rebuttal of their most vocal member. Will fought the urge to audibly sigh.

“OK. We’ll pick up again next week where we left off - and I want an answer from each of you by then.”

He shut off the projector and the room was thrown into deeper gloom, the shuffling and murmuring sounds of the class packing up filling the large room as Will walked to throw on the main lights again. _Let there be light_, he thought, _and please God let it be home time_. Turning back around he noticed a figure stood in the doorway, students nervously filing around him on their exit, and his heart sunk. So much for the latter. 

“Will Graham.”

“Mr Crawford.”

“Jack, please.” He held out a large hand, his handshake was firm and dry-palmed. “I was hoping I could catch you before you headed off for the day. Do you have ten minutes?”

_Do I have a choice, Mr Guru?_

“Sure. Give me a minute to pack up?”

“I’ll wait.” 

Will wondered if he thought Will would skip out if he took his eyes off him. Probably wise, Will had fleetingly considered it. Once Will had packed away his small pile of notes and laptop into his bag, Jack gestured with one arm.

“My office isn’t far. Do you mind if we talk there?” Will could tell from the slightly stilted tone of Jack’s voice that he was more used to demanding than asking but was trying hard. He was trying to keep Will on side - that didn’t bode well for whatever it was he wanted to ask of him.

They walked along the corridor and up a flight of stairs with only minimal small talk, Will studiously examining the tiled flooring underfoot. He hated empty talk and Jack didn’t seem much of a fan either. Jack held a door open and allowed Will to enter first, following and closing the door sharply behind himself. The office was spacious and neat but felt slightly claustrophobic due to the sheer volume and chaos of _stuff _in there. Piles of files, two separate laptops open and humming on the desk either side of a huge desk pad covered in sloping scribbled notes, a large whiteboard on the far wall with a selection of photos, notes and lines sketched. The visual cacophony distracted Will upon first entering sufficiently that he didn’t realise there was a third person in the room until they spoke to him.

“Will Graham. A pleasure to meet you again.”

Will turned his head so fast he heard something crack in his neck. That voice, _no_. But yes, of course it was. The sleek face and dark eyes to match the smooth voice came sharply into focus, standing a little closer to Will than he expected or social convention would normally dictate.

“Oh.” 

To give him some credit, Hannibal Lecter did not look too affronted by the lukewarm reception or the beats of delay before Will reluctantly took his proffered hand and gave it the quickest of shakes, already looking somewhere off to the left.

“You’ve met before?” Jack seemed surprised as he seated himself behind the desk, snapping both laptop lids closed simultaneously and gesturing to the two seats pulled up opposite him.

Will took a seat, feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him as he too sat.

“In passing.” Was all Will offered.

“We have a mutual friend.” Hannibal elaborated. “Doctor Bloom. I had the happy accident of running into Alana recently while she was catching up with Mr Graham. She told me of his interesting broadcasting pursuits.”

“Did she now.” Will muttered, looking directly ahead still.

“She did.” Doctor Lecter returned lightly - from Will’s periphery he could tell the Doctor was looking at him still and there was an irritating amusement in his voice as if this was simply casual banter between old friends. Will steeled himself - he wasn’t going to be baited like an overtired child. 

Jack was looking between the two men, a shrewd expression narrowing his eyes slightly.

“That was actually what I brought us all together to discuss.”

Will flicked his eyes to Jack quickly. “What?”

“Your podcast, Mr Graham.”

“Then why is he here?” He tilted his head in Hannibal’s direction. The proximity of the strange man had set a shivery itch between Will’s shoulder blades - he knew he became rude when unnerved but could do little to restrain it entirely when bombarded in this manner. 

Jack squeezed the pen he was fiddling with, brows lowering and eyes moving between the two men in front of him again.

“_Doctor Lecter_ has kindly agreed to assist the FBI with our current investigation into the Chesapeake Ripper - helping shape and build our profile, refine our strategy with the media and…other communications which may be reaching the Ripper. Work out the smartest play in the window we have now, while he’s still active.”

“_Other communications_. I’m assuming my podcast is being group in there too?”

“You know the usual profile of these guys - love their own press, love hearing the discourse. Anything being put out there to the public about the Ripper and his crimes, it can influence his behaviour. There’s a chance it could incite him, break his plans a little - we just need one small mistake and we could be after him.”

Will was nodding slowly but a frown narrowed his eyes.

“I know the process. I just don’t know exactly what you want from me. I’m not going to put misleading or knowingly untrue information out there if it could put more people at risk - the whole point of what I’m doing -”

“Yes, yes - I know you have noble aims with this endeavour.” Jack cut him off sharply. “But I think we all have to get on board with the greater good. You said yourself how careful and smart this killer is - if we don’t do something to rattle him, he will just keep on killing and getting away with it.”

Will sighed, gripping the arms of the chair tight as he felt a precipitous shift beneath him - the cusp of a significant decision was fast approaching.

“Ok - what exactly are you asking me to do?”

Jack leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. Business mode.

“Firstly, I want to bring you on formally to consult on the case. I want your insights first, ahead of anything being published on your podcast. And I want to indicate if any details would be best kept out of public knowledge too - we need to keep some cards closer to our chest, play some smarter moves.”

Will had opened his mouth to retort but Jack held a hand up and continued.

“I do not intend to censor you, Mr Graham - but we have to be more strategic with what we’re putting out there. And this is a two way street - I will allow you to see everything we have, to attend any further scenes first-hand. The same stipulation applies however - not everything is to be considered automatically ‘on the record’.”

Will closed his mouth again and drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair, considering. His gut reaction was to decline, while he still had the patience to not be career-limitingly impolite about it, and leave. The greater good comment had stung deep though - could he do more by being in the loop, by playing Jack’s game? The weight of responsibility hung heavy around his neck.

Taking advantage of his silence, Jack continued.

“Secondly, and this is a non-debatable condition of the first, if you are to be involved on active cases I want you to work alongside Doctor Lecter. Both to help shape the overall profile and to ensure you are remaining..._objective_.”

Will bristled visibly. So there it was, the inevitable edginess over his past. “Encephalitis is not a mental illness, nor am I _unstable_ as a result of having it.” He snapped.

_And, _Will continued silently_, if you’re looking for an example of instability - how about this guy to my right decked out in ten tonnes of plaid who thought it was totally acceptable to get in my face and crush my hand the first time we met? _

Before Jack could answer, the Doctor slipped smoothly back into the conversation.

“It is a very serious condition to have suffered, Mr Graham. There are several documented long-term complications with behaviour and personality. I think it is advisable to have a professional on hand when taking on the stresses of an active case such as this. For your own wellbeing as well as that of the case.”

“I have no problems with my wellbeing.” Will answered coldly, still looking ahead rather than over to the Doctor. “And if you are so concerned about me being unstable, Mr Crawford, then I am struggling to see why you want me involved at all?”

Jack spread his hands, conciliatory but unwavering. 

“I’ll break it down simply then. I think you have extraordinary insight and I think you have the chance to really use that skill to help here, to save lives. Boil it down and I think that’s something we all want to do. I understand, Will, that aspects of my offer feel intrusive and overbearing but I am bound by process and policy to safeguard those who work for me as well as the public.”

Jack had pulled out his reasonable benevolent voice. Will felt trapped by his words, by his calmness. By feeling like a petulant, reckless child if he refused. God, Jack was good at this.

“Fine. I’m willing to trial the arrangement. But I want to understand and agree any aspects I’m told not to include in my podcast going forward - I’m not consenting to censorship where it extends to withholding information from the public which could put people in danger.”

“Understood.” Jack stood and stretched a hand towards Will, standing too they shook once - Jack with a smile and Will with a sense of falling. 

Will knew Doctor Lecter had risen too - could see him in his periphery, a little too close again - and steeled himself for the inevitable leaving courtesies. He turned to face the man finally, forced himself to hold his gaze – wary blue meeting appraising amber - and offered his hand. 

Will’s knuckles were still a little tender from the pressure this very man had inflicted in the coffee shop and Will felt sure Hannibal squeezed a little harder in the brief handshake they now shared to reawaken that pain.

“I’ll be in touch very soon, Mr Graham. I think we should arrange to meet and discuss matters sooner rather than later.” 

Will gave a jerky nod, dropped his gaze and moved to leave the room.

Hannibal stood looking after Will for several long considering beats before Jack recalled his attention. 

“Any initial thoughts? I hadn’t realised you two had met before - does that contravene any...policies of yours?”

Hannibal turned back to ackowledge the stony-faced man, crossing his hands neatly in front of him.

“We met only very briefly, in passing as Mr Graham mentioned. There are no independence issues I see in fulfilling my role here.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear that. I need someone keeping their finger on the pulse with regards to Will Graham being involved in this case. For his own good of course but also -”

“I understand completely.” Hannibal glanced over to the whiteboard of theories. “This cannibal you want Will to get to know - I think I can help you both to see his face.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will entertains an unexpected (and dare we say, unwanted) morning visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been in a place to update any of my WIPs for far too long - juggling life and work in lockdown has been REAL. I do still turn when I can to fics for some much needed escapism though and have keenly wanted to contribute my own offerings for others to do the same in these horrible times....so here is the first delivery!
> 
> I may need to return and edit aspects of this where it doesn't read as I wanted it to but had to stretch the old writing muscles again after a long break - so do have patience if things are still a little stiff
> 
> Love to you all - hope you are all staying healthy, mind and body
> 
> c

Will jerked awake, the ghosts of his nightmare still swirling threateningly close just behind his eyelids as he squinted into the morning light. He lay for a few beats longer, calming his breathing and gradually allowing his eyes - still sore and scratchy with exhaustion despite the few hours of sleep - to adjust slowly to the light. The familiar shapes and sounds of his home came into sharper focus and the bitter panic receded further. Warmth and weight all around him accompanied by the rumbling sounds of his pack asleep at various spots across the bed and wider room.

He had stayed up too late again, pouring over pages of scribbled notes in case files and wincing at the included crime scene photos when they spilled from between pages unexpectedly. A FBI courier had dropped off a box of unsolved cases from Jack which had one or more of the same signatures as the Ripper for Will to assess and see if any more struck him as another data point in his Ripper profile. Only two of the included cases seemed to have any chance in Will’s assessment of being the Ripper - and even then it felt a bit of a stretch. Will was starting to appreciate the unique tones and shades of true Ripper scenes now - and while he couldn’t quite  _ inhabit  _ him yet he knew it wouldn’t be long. He felt a strange allure - somewhere between cold dread and fizzing anticipation - at the thought of dropping the pendulum and entering the Ripper’s mind. To see through his eyes, feel that delicate balance of iron control and aesthetic whimsy himself.

He had given his mind a break from the Ripper for the latter part of the night - turning back to the cases he knew for sure were not his work and finding an interesting lecture idea he built into a full narrative to present at his next guest spot. Presenting the key facts of these cases as a demonstration that common behavioural factors did not always mean they were the work of the same perpetrator and it was a trap the students should be careful with where they ended up working in law enforcement. 

Now that the light of day filled his house again, illuminating the chaos he had left his desk when he had finally staggered his way to bed, it was pleasantly the topic of this drafted lecture rather than the Ripper which his mind started turning back over. Perhaps he could have a day without the Ripper lurking around the corners and corridors of his every wandering thought. Go for a walk with the dogs, get some fresh air and maybe a little lost….

Noise intruded on this pleasant musing and several canine heads shot up from slumber to peer towards the front of the house, ears cocked - the crunch and rumble of a car pulling slowly up the drive to his house. Will tensed at the sound, checking the clock to confirm it was as early in the day as he thought, and threw his legs out of bed as the dogs started milling excitedly around his legs and darting to the door and back

“Oh.” Will said, an involuntary small frown quirking his brows as he fought the urge to take a step back. “Hello.”

“Good morning, Will.” Hannibal Lecter cocked his head with a gracious smile.

“Sorry, one moment” Will turned back to the house and the faces of his expectant pack who sat and quieted at his gesture. Will turned back to the doorway - not looking at his visitor at all but scanning the driveway and field beyond to confirm all was clear and quiet - and then gave the dogs the sign they were free to head out for a morning run and bathroom trip. Most cascaded excitedly past Doctor Lecter who looked down at the flurry of fur and ears whipping past his legs blankly but Winston hung back, looking up at Will with his head cocked having sensed Will’s tension regarding the visitor. Will nodded him out too but he went slowly.

Will finally turned his attention back to the man on his doorstep.

“Morning.” Will answered cautiously, folding his arms tightly across his chest as the cool morning air lifted the hem of his thin sleeping shirt with chill creeping fingers. “What brings you all the way out here, Doctor?” 

“It’s a lovely morning for a drive in nature.” His lips curled into a sly smile. “And while I was in the area, I thought it could be an opportune time to commence our working relationship.”

Will raised an eyebrow, feeling a prickle starting at the back of his neck and he tried to bite down on the irritation - he had chosen his home because it was very rarely a case anyone was simply ‘in the area’. “I had assumed our working relationship would be...held within working premises. And hours.”

Will fought the urge to fidget as his skin started to tingle in the cold. His unwelcome visitor looked almost obnoxiously warm in comparison in a sumptuously thick coat, falling to mid calf with the same exquisite tailoring he had noted in their previous encounter...except... perhaps slightly larger fitting. Will narrowed his eyes slightly as he took it in - the looseness in the shoulders and waist tailoring gave a somewhat softer silhouette. Softer, safer….almost certainly deliberate.  _ Costuming _ . 

“As did I.” The smooth voice broke into Will’s quick train of assessment before the thought fully completed - Will filed it away for later. “But as my calls within working hours were going unanswered I thought perhaps you were indicating you would prefer to engage via a different method.”

“I’m more of an email than a phone guy.” Will shrugged, keeping his face inscrutable despite the treacherous heat he felt bloom on his neck at being called out on the campaign of cold shouldering the calls he had seen coming in over the past week.

“Quite understandable.” The smile had not slipped from the Doctor’s face - if anything he looked to be enjoying the little doorstop stand off more and more as it developed. “If it were not for the fact my emails also seemed to go astray.”

“Ah. I’ll have to check my Spam folders…” 

The serpentine smile widened. “No matter. We seem to have resolved our communication challenges quite effectively.” A graceful gesture of his fingers indicating the two of them stood across from each other. “May I come in?”

“Perhaps we should reschedule and include Jack in our initial discussions….make sure we’re approaching things the way he’d like.”

“Oh, have a little faith Mr Graham. I am quite sure we can manage without a chaperone.”

A beat while they stared each other out and then Will caved, stepping back and pushing the door fully open.

“Of course.” He muttered through a grimace of a smile. “Please come in.”

Once the front door shut, the space of the open plan front room - usually airy and light - felt immediately claustrophobic. The air felt thick with charge, like a humid summer evening before the storm strikes, and Will turned to lean against the door he had just closed so as to not have his back to this man. 

Hannibal Lecter took several slow, deliberate steps into his front room, head turning smoothly like a bird of prey as he purveyed the space. Too confident and calm by half. Will found he didn’t like the feeling of him picking across his belongings with that sharp gaze and wanted to break the keen attention he was paying the room.

“Nice touch with the coat by the way.”

Hannibal turned at that to face Will again, tracking the other man as he moved into the kitchen area. “What do you mean, Will?” 

Will declined to answer for now - he had a feeling Doctor Lecter was a man who would raise the question again later. A man who did not often resist the itch of curiosity often. Will instead danced his fingers across the counters with nervous energy played off as nonchalance.

“Do you want a coffee?” He asked, eyes remained focused down on his hands as he slid forward a mason jar of ground coffee.

“I brought my own.” 

Will snapped his eyes up and caught the small cryptic smile that accompanied this. 

“I am very careful what I put in my body - I mean no disrespect to your offer or coffee supplies.”

“None taken.” Will answered slowly, a little bemused. 

“I brought enough for us both. And a little breakfast.”

Will stared in silence for a few beats longer than most would be comfortable while he processed that.

“You...brought breakfast.”

“I brought  _ us  _ breakfast. Yes.” That infuriating smile again. “Shall I?” He gestured towards the age-smoothed surface of his dining table.

“Oh. Yes. I’ll just….grab some cutlery.”

When Will turned back, cutlery in hand, he saw his visitor pulling back the lids from two fancy ceramic containers and caught a rare moment - the first seen in their interactions so far - of genuine emotion on the strange, inscrutable face. Something like contentment as he handled the food, giving the pots a tiny shake to redistribute the contents in a more aesthetically pleasing manner. Will felt a small smile twist his mouth before he caught himself - but not quick enough to have not been spotted by the doctor as he flicked his gaze up.

“That’s the happiest you have looked since I arrived. Although that perhaps isn’t saying much.”

Will broke their eye contact to set the table, “I could say the same. You find a lot of pleasure in food. It shows.”

Will sat and the two men looked at each other, now at the same level again as they sat across from each other in the strangely intimate ritual of eating together. The doctor pursed his lips a little before answering.

“I find pleasure in the culinary arts, yes.” He paused. Regarding Will shrewdly, before seemingly deciding to elaborate. “I enjoy the precision of it. And the artistry. A truly fine meal should appeal to as many of our senses as possible. Do you enjoy cooking, Will?”

Will picked up a fork and scooped some of the provided breakfast. “Food is just...necessary to me. I wouldn't say I  _ feel  _ any particular way about it.”

He realised that may have come across dismissive of the admittedly nice gesture of the doctor bringing him breakfast so he quickly continued.

“But this looks good. And smells good. So that’s two senses.!

The men shared a small smile.

“What - is it?”

Hannibal gave him that cryptic smile as Will took his first bite. “A simple protein scramble. Some eggs, some sausage.”

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

The smile widened. “My pleasure.”

___

Will felt a little less prickly with his unwanted house guest after they had eaten - having had the chance to pass some light, inconsequential small talk back and forth. He found Hannibal refreshingly direct - he didn’t tiptoe around Will the way others at work and those he consulted with at the FBI did, as if he was a bomb wired to blow at the slightest wrong word.

And good God, the man could cook.

Turning back from tidying things into the sink, Will saw Hannibal had moved to peer curiously at his home studio set up - little more than a chaotic desk of notes and laptop. 

“Do you record your podcast here at home?”

“Yep. Right there at the desk.”

An interesting hum. “Do you have another episode planned yet?”

“Did you listen to the last one?” Will asked, moving closer so they both stood near the desk.

Hannibal turned to look at him, tips of his fingers resting on the top of one of the folders stacked haphazardly on the desk surface.

“I haven’t managed to catch it yet.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “I think that’s a lie, Doctor Lecter.”

“You think?” There was no heat or confrontation in Hannibal’s tone - as if it was an easy test he had set for Will to pick up.

“I do.”

“Hmm. And if it was, is it the first I have told you, Will?”

“It’s the first I’ve called you on.” Will felt oddly thrilled by the looping conversation rhythm they had fallen into so naturally - he was tense yet fluid, poised like one chess master meeting another for a title game. 

“That is a separate matter altogether. You have a habit of avoiding direct answers, Will.” Hannibal’s eyes gleamed as he turned his head, the morning light catching sparks of red amongst the darkness.

“Ah, my mind is my meal ticket, Doctor. I can’t just give it away for free.”

“Of course. I suppose you have to save it for the Ripper.” Hannibal gestured to the recording equipment and teetering folders on the desk.

Will’s eyes followed his movement to look down at his desk too. “Just waiting for him to make the next move.”

Will did not look back up for several silent beats, lost in some unreadable thought. He didn’t catch the look Hannibal gave him. A satisfied, hungry look. The look of a predator who, unchallenged for too long, spots a truly worthy prey. 


End file.
